


It Could Be Sweet (like a long forgotten dream)

by china_shop



Category: White Collar
Genre: 5 Things, Episode Related, F/M, Fantasy, Fic, Five Times, M/M, Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-08
Updated: 2011-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-14 14:05:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/149979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/china_shop/pseuds/china_shop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Elizabeth didn't seduce Neal Caffrey.</p><p>Spoilers up to 1.09.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Could Be Sweet (like a long forgotten dream)

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to mergatrude for beta.

**1\. We were just chatting**

"You must be Elizabeth."

"And you must be Neal Caffrey."

Neal was prettier than his file photos and more personable than El had expected. He'd just spent four years in prison, but when he showed up on her doorstep in a black turtleneck with a Victory bond in his hand and a diffident expression on his face, she didn't hesitate to let him in. Besides, Peter was right upstairs. "Can I get you a coffee?"

"No. Thank you," he said, looking around as if he were memorizing the entrance way, then the living room. "Is Peter here?"

His eyes were steady and very blue, his lashes dark, and El felt a twist low in her stomach. "Come on through. He'll be down in a minute. " She led the way to the couch.

Neal gave her a quick smile, which she couldn't help returning, and they chatted about the house, the case he and Peter were working on, the bond. El probably should have called upstairs to let Peter know his parolee was here, but Neal was fascinating, and Peter would be down soon enough.

It made sense that a con artist would be so easy to talk to, so likeable. El hadn't thought it through before, but she knew better than to trust him—however much her instincts told her she could. That didn't mean she couldn't indulge in a little harmless fantasy, though: Neal showed her the initials hidden in the forged Victory bond, and she made all the right noises, while secretly imagining crawling onto his lap and peeling that turtleneck sweater over his head. He'd be surprised, maybe even shocked, that Peter's wife could be so forward and wanton, but that would only add to the thrill. "It's okay," she'd assure him. "Peter won't mind."

He'd shiver, dig his thumbs into her hips and pull her forward, hard up against him, and they'd kiss recklessly, a torrid romance-novel kiss, while her hands roamed over his naked chest and shoulders.

And then Peter would come downstairs, and Neal would freeze, caught out and already grasping for words to talk himself out of trouble without laying the blame at El's door. But this was a fantasy, and in this scenario, Peter wasn't mad. Instead, he leaned in the doorway and said, "Can I watch?"

His voice would be deep and a little rough, and El would feel Neal's cock harden in response. She'd raise her eyebrows at Neal, making sure he really was okay with it. They'd say "Yes" in unison.

Then Peter would smile, crinkling the corners of his eyes, and move to sit on the arm of the couch next to them for a better view. "Go on."

And El would turn back to Neal, check in with him again, see desire in his eyes, and before she could say anything, he'd cup her neck, pull her forward and slide his tongue into her mouth. El bit her lip at the fantasy and closed her eyes for a second, trying to gather her wits so she could follow the real conversation and hide her errant train of thought.

Neal gave no sign he'd guessed what she was thinking.

God, she wanted to ravish him. She could slither to the floor between his knees and just—

"El? I've got to go." Peter's footsteps sounded on the stairs. "Neal's outside his radius."

El glanced up quickly, pasting on an innocent look as best she could. "Good morning, honey."

"Peter." Neal subtly shifted away from El.

But Peter looked outraged anyway. "Caffrey is with me," he said into the phone. "Yeah." He hung up and glared at Neal. "You're on my couch! Get off my couch!"

El hid a grin. Yeah, this was her Peter: flustered and indignant. The Peter in her fantasy was nothing like the real thing. It made her want to give him a hug, and maybe drag him upstairs again for a quickie, so she could work off some sexual tension. Sadly, he and Neal were too busy bickering for that to be an option.

 

 **2\. Never reveal your secrets**

"If I come down there, there's going to be a lot more missing than centerpieces, you got that?" El hung up her phone before she really lost her temper and went over to the dining table, where Peter and Neal had apparently just had takeout. Since when did Peter bring Neal home to eat in the middle of the day?

"Hey, guys." El gave Neal a reassuring smile to prove she wasn't about to throttle anyone in her immediate vicinity. "Sorry about that. It's just my vendor."

"No, it's fine," said Peter. "We were just trying to decide if a woman is capable of murder."

"Oh, I think so," said El, still caught up in the disasters of the morning. But it was lunchtime and she needed a break from work and incompetent suppliers. She glanced at Neal, who was wearing a pale blue shirt, open at the neck and rolled up at the sleeves like he was halfway unwrapped. She bet he smelled good too. "What's the issue?"

Peter and Neal exchanged glances, and Peter gestured to Neal to explain.

"I think we're dealing with a shell game," said Neal. He cleaned out three cups and up-ended them, saying who each one represented, and El gripped the back of a chair and watched him as casually as she could, too aware of his hands, the way his ass stuck out as he leaned over the table and switched the cups around.

What would happen if she interrupted, if she pushed him back against the wall and licked a stripe up that long neck? Would he respond? He was a con artist and a charmer—he must have wooed hundreds of women over the years. He'd definitely know his way around the female figure. And would Peter stop her? (Of course he would.)

She could plead insanity. Watching the muscles shift in Neal's forearms was definitely detrimental to her grip on reality: right now, despite managing to hold up her end of the conversation, she was eighty percent preoccupied with the idea of what would happen if Peter left the room, maybe to go to the bathroom, and she took the opportunity to lean over and whisper to Neal that she wasn't wearing any underwear. It was a clichéd line, and it wasn't true, but the urge to do it anyway was like an itch at the base of her skull. Maybe he'd sit her on the table and wrap her legs around his waist, and she could grab him by the hair and—

Neal knocked over the Big Gulp cup, and El almost started, almost gave away that she was imagining those hands sliding up her bare thighs under her skirt. Jesus! She glanced at Peter, but he wasn't watching her. His attention was fixed on Neal too. On the case.

El sat down at the table and forced her interest back to the Bible, the homeless man and the murder. She could think about Neal later, maybe. It wouldn't hurt anyone. No one need ever know.

 

 **3\. You did leave a few things out**

Peter was pacing the room, visibly trying to rein in his temper so he wouldn't say something to Neal that he'd regret, and El was sitting on the couch with Neal, secretly trying to rein in her inappropriate desire to jump him. This had to stop. Neal was Peter's partner, he was vulnerable and worried to distraction about Kate, and the last thing he needed right now was a happily married woman sending him mixed signals. But El had gone from lusting after him, in the early days, to complicated protective feelings that were dangerously close to love.

She wanted to draw him into her arms and kiss him, comfort him with her body. She wanted to make him forget about Kate. She wanted to take him upstairs and shut the rest of the world out. Even Peter.

This had to stop.

"I never lied to Peter," Neal whispered.

El clasped her hands in her lap to keep from reaching for him. "You did leave a few things out."

It was a distinction she'd do well to consider herself; she was walking the same fine line. And if she stayed now, she might find herself taking Neal's side against Peter. That would be disloyal. She couldn't do that.

"You're on your own on this one," she said, getting up to leave. Satchmo followed her out.

 

 **4\. I wouldn't have had to sneak him in if there weren't those people sitting on our house**

Neal was making coffee by the time El extricated herself from chatting with the surveillance detail on the house and came to find him in the kitchen. His hat and sunglasses were heaped on the kitchen counter next to the toaster, and he seemed remarkably relaxed, considering the circumstances. Not El's idea of a wild-eyed fugitive at all.

She stood in the doorway, empty cookie plate in hand, and watched him turn to her and smile. "Coffee?"

She shook her head. "Why are you here?"

"I need to talk to Peter." His shoulders twitched. "It's important."

Which didn't explain why he'd called _her_ , but maybe this wasn't the time to ask. She put the plate on the counter and went over to him. "Don't worry," she said, patting his arm. "He'll be home soon."

"Unless he's pulling an all-nighter trying to catch me," said Neal.

"He'd have called." El smiled. "Just between you and me, I'm not sure he wants you caught."

Neal's expression flickered, something earnest and wistful showing through, and the knowledge slid involuntarily into her mind: _he wants Peter to catch him_ and then _he wants Peter._

She pulled back and took a deep breath. "That coffee smells divine."

"I brought it with me. Are you sure you don't want some?" He was avoiding her gaze, as if he knew he'd revealed too much, and El turned away to get a mug and closed her eyes, fighting images of Neal and Peter kissing, touching each other, stripping out of their clothes, their bodies colliding. Of the two of them turning to her and welcoming her into their embrace, both of them putting their hands and mouths on her. God, that would be incredible.

El swallowed and gripped the cup, steadying herself, and for a second, she almost expected Neal to come up behind her, hug her and nuzzle the side of her neck. Which was ridiculous. Utterly impossible. No matter how much her body hummed with anticipation.

She pulled herself together and turned back to say yes to the coffee, just as she heard a key in the front door. Neal's lips were a tense line. El refrained from putting her arms around him. Instead she said, "It'll be okay. Trust me."

 

 **5\. It might take me a little time**

After Mozzie finished sweeping the house for bugs, and Peter took Neal to see Kate's father's grave, Peter came home alone and pulled El down onto the couch next to him. "Apparently I have you to thank for the fact that Fowler's tape was blank."

El smiled. "You should thank Neal."

"That's not what he said." Peter pulled her to lean against his chest. "But I did anyway. What's going on, El?"

El closed her eyes and listened to his steady, reliable heartbeat and ached with how much she loved him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean you have feelings for Neal Caffrey," said Peter, the words rumbling up through his chest. "The kind of feelings where you turn to him for help."

El took his hand and held it tight, to stop her own from shaking. "Those. And also the kind of feelings where I keep daydreaming about—" She swallowed. "About the three of us."

She felt the gentle pressure of Peter's kiss on the top of her head. "I know."

Tears stung her eyes. She wasn't someone who cried easily, but Peter could get to her like no one and nothing else. "I am so lucky to have you," she said, squeezing his hand. "And apparently I suck at keeping secrets."

She pulled back to look at him, and the warmth in his eyes nearly killed her. But he was smiling. It couldn't be that bad, if he was smiling.

"At first it was just a stupid fantasy. I mean, you know how pretty he is. It didn't mean anything." She watched Peter nod, as if it were perfectly normal for his wife to talk about another man like that. "But then we kept talking about him, about how to manage him, and I mean, I know he has June and Mozzie, but—" She shook her head. "I want to take care of him, Peter."

Peter still didn't say anything. He tightened his arm around her and gave her the space she needed to get the words out.

"And then, when I realized how he feels about you, I thought, what if. You know?" She shook her head. "Which is stupid. I mean, you're straight, right? So—" She shrugged. "And it's okay. I'll get over it—you don't have to worry. But it might take me a little time."

Peter touched her cheek, pressed his lips to hers, and then pulled back and scratched his jaw. "When it comes to Neal," he said slowly, "I'm not sure anyone's absolutely one hundred percent straight. By which I mean, I've thought about it too." He shook his head. "These days, sometimes, I have a hard time _not_ thinking about it."

"Oh, honey," said El, moved and a little breathless. Her pipe-dream was one step closer to actually happening. It was almost frightening—as if she'd conjured up Peter's feelings to suit herself.

"It feels good to say it out loud," added Peter. "I didn't know how to tell you. And if it's any consolation, I'm pretty sure he has a twenty-four carat crush on you. The way he looks when I talk about you, I should be jealous."

"But you're not," said El. "So what do we do? He could really turn our lives upside-down, couldn't he?"

"He could ruin us," said Peter, bluntly.

El kissed him. "You know he wouldn't."

"Maybe not deliberately." Peter sighed and hugged her tightly, then leaned back against the couch and met her gaze. "If you're serious about this, really sure—Promise me it won't break us."

"Never," she told him. "Nothing could. I love you."

"I can't imagine my life without you." Peter shifted on the couch. "The thought of having both of you is—far more than I deserve."

"Scary?" asked El with a smile.

"Terrifying," he agreed, rubbing his thumb over her wedding ring. "Makes me feel greedy."

El laughed. "You're allowed to be greedy. I hereby give you permission. All things considered, it would be pretty hypocritical of me not to."

He grinned, but his smile quickly faded. "There's still the fact that I can't start anything," he said, slowly. "There are rules about this sort of thing, and they're there for a reason."

El knew he was right, but she couldn't let it drop. Not now she knew how much they both wanted it. "Honey, since when have the rules applied to Neal?"

"Yeah, and that sentiment doesn't fill me with foreboding in the least." He held her palm to his chest and gave her a meaningful look. "Like I said, _I_ can't start anything."

"Oh." El bit her lip, her mind swirling. That meant it was up to her. "Well. Okay, then."

 

 **6\. Bring your toothbrush**

It took El two days to work up the nerve to talk to Neal. It might have been longer, but she couldn't stop thinking about it—what to say, how Neal would react, whether he'd say yes—and it was distracting her from her work and just about everything else, so she decided she had to take the bull by the horns. But when he opened his door to her, bare-chested and beautiful, her carefully planned phrases evaporated, leaving her speechless. It was like the manifestation of a hundred fantasies.

"Elizabeth? Is everything all right?" He had a dove-gray shirt in his hand, and he started to pull it on.

"Neal—" El dropped her bag and stepped right up to him, searching his face for answering desire. It was there, plain as day, tainted only by confusion. She splayed her hand on his chest and leaned into him, and a second later his arms closed around her, his shirt hanging forgotten from one shoulder. His mouth found hers, sending her up in flames.

Without breaking the kiss, he pivoted them sideways and kicked the door shut. She hardly noticed, too busy clinging to him, kissing back frantically, dragging her fingers across the muscles of his back until he groaned and raised his head. "Oh God, Peter's going to kill me."

"He won't," said El. "Trust me." She tried to pull his head down to her again, but he caught her hands and brought them together between them, using them to push her away.

"Elizabeth," he said roughly. "Stop. We can't do this. I can't believe I'm saying this, but—you know we can't. Peter would never—"

"He knows I'm here," said El. "He knows why I'm here."

That stopped Neal in his tracks. He frowned. "And why is that? Is this some kind of test?"

She shook her head and tried to explain. "You came through for us when we needed you, with Fowler's tape, and—"

"So buy me a gift basket," interrupted Neal, still frowning. "You don't have to do this."

"I—We want you to be happy, and I—" El shook her head in frustration. "I'm sorry, I'm saying this all wrong." She took a deep breath and pulled her hands away. Watched as he finished pulling on his shirt and buttoned it up. "The thing is: we both care about you, Neal. Very much. And I think you care about us. We just want you to be happy."

Neal's frown had gone. Now he looked wary. "How happy?"

"That's completely up to you." El tucked her hair behind her ear. "Just know that we're a package deal. That's not negotiable."

"And Peter knows that's why you're here?" Neal sounded skeptical.

"Call him and see," said El, but Neal was moving in again, holding her by the shoulders and studying her face. El made herself say the important, awkward part. "Whatever you decide, there won't be any repercussions for your parole. You don't have to do anything."

"Elizabeth, given you can't possibly be saying what I think you're saying," said Neal, "I don't know how I'm going to decide anything. I do know that as soon as you walk out my door, I'm going to kick myself for not taking advantage of you when I had the chance."

She felt her face heat and reached up to stroke her fingertips along the smooth line of his jaw. "Do you feel that way about Peter too? Because if so, there can be other chances."

His gaze wavered. El guessed he wasn't used to making himself vulnerable. But he licked his lip and met her eye again. That was all the answer she needed.

"Then you should come for dinner tonight," said El. She urged him down and kissed him gently on the lips, then stepped back and went to the door. Neal had been right, that they couldn't do this—not without Peter. Not this first time. She put her hand on the doorknob and turned back to see him standing like a statue, watching her leave.

"See you later, if that's what you want." El smiled. "Oh, and Neal? If you do come over tonight, don't forget to bring your toothbrush."


End file.
